peep ashter’s basic ass biography HERE LIKE THIS if you’re interested in plotting with him & or would like a small starter

          it’s nothing, he almost says again — almost half-yells — but catches himself in time. for he’s no talented liar and, even if he was… how to keep denying the obvious that is written all over his physical body? expression remains STOIC as ever, yes, but there’s the gritting of his teeth out of pain, and the tense jaw, and the stiff shoulders, and the not completely upstraight position and, more than anything, the right foot that is barely touching the floor lest it flares up in agony all over again — and, once he has to walk in order to leave the room, it shall be nothing short of a maimed wolf trying to find refuge.

          or he could just yell at Sam for good and send him crying outwards to the yard… he could, and certainly it wouldn’t be too difficult; sometimes, Jon wonders if this boy is scared of his own shadow when it follows him. he could, and yet he won’t… never one to be unnecessarily cruel, let alone regarding someone who can hardly stand up for himself, even if it may come at the cost of swallowing his pride. which shouldn’t be such a trial, in fact… especially not after he’s already heeded Donal Noye’s precious counsel and began making friends out of the other recruits, rather than scorned enemies willing to slit his throat in his sleep.

          so, what is the terrible issue? it is the same that caused his slip outside, ironically… snow; or, rather, Snow. it is the fact he’s not allowed chance for mistakes, not even ones born from accidents; EVERYONE KNOWS THAT BASTARDS HAVE BAD BLOOD — it’s on the world to remind him, and it’s on him to prove himself above and beyond it. and one cannot truly do so when limping around like an ungraceful duck, can he? not when Ser Alliser has made it his new life purpose to see him subjugated at the training yard… and, seven hells, Jon will gladly break both legs and both arms afore seeing that become reality.

          nonetheless… it’s impossible to keep scowling as Tarly’s next words find him — as clumsy as the previous motion, and so silly that he can’t help but quietly chuckle. ‘ i could beat you with the cane, if nothing else. ‘ which, of course, he does not mean at all — yet Sam’s attempt at consolation was so hopeless that, in its own awkwardness, managed to soothe the sour mood somewhat; if someone like Sam is trying his best, trying so hard, mayhaps he ought to do the same then. ‘ i did a bad movement whilst sparring with Grenn… i think i twisted my ankle. ‘

           Hot white anxiety gives way to humour as the other jests, and with that a great breath releases from Sam’s chest ; one he hadn’t realized he’d been holding — and deflates his sense of shame all the more. With the reason for the fumble now explained the Tarly nods gently and once more dark hues flicker toward the injured appendage — quick to fall back to Jon lest another fit of anger over takes him ; unlike himself Sam’s certain Jon isn’t overly familiar with shame — embarrassment really ; despite the truth of being a bastard the way he’s held himself these past few months have expressed nothing less than this : bastard he may be but a failure he is not. Sam had learned that the first day he’d come to the wall — and he’d be willing to put good coin on the idea that Jon had spent most of his life proving the same fact to each and every person he’d ever met.

Jealousy strikes the Tarly then, small and weak but it’s there ; in his heart for just a moment. He knows he’ll never be as brave as the man who stands before him, never have the gall to tell others what to think — how to think about him. Sam would sooner admit his cowardice and announce himself craven — best to get it over with ; he had no talent to show otherwise. “You’re lucky Ser Alliser hadn’t seen you — you’d be made to hop up and down on it ‘till you were swollen as a bee sting!” Two steps forward remind Samwell of his original task ; the swords — he ones he’d knocked over in an attempt to shield his true purpose in the armoury. Dark irises flicker downward and back up again to Jon before he bends and scoops up another several sharpened blades — honesty is in the air now ; he might as well fess up as well.

“i can hardly believe it. standing here, with you. after all these years, we have accomplished exactly what we said we would.” violet eyes found jorah’s, face filled with nothing but affection and joy. they had survived, together. she reached for his hand, small pale hand slipping into his own battle-hardened one. just as he had been by her side when she had walked out of drogo’s funeral pyre with three dragons, he was by her side now as she claimed her throne. “i am glad you are here with me, ser jorah.”

starter / @scrvetherealm​

           To say she was anything less than a marvel would be a lie. Daenerys had been and would be the most breath taking woman Jorah Mormont would ever lay eyes upon — even without her stunning violet tinted hues or goddess like features it was her soul that astounded him each and every day ; her leadership, her courage, her presence ; the people of Westeros would love her just as much as he did — of that the old bear was certain.

Warmth had filled him then, with her soft yet imperishable digits nestling themselves within his own. “As am I, Khaleesi.” Your Grace, princess, mother of dragons ; no matter what the world threw at them she would always and forever be his khaleesi, even if her heart belonged to another his adoration for her would never die ; not even after he took his last breath.

                     IN TRUTH , BRIENNE KNEW LITTLE OF THE BARATHEON BOY . she knew what she was expected to know of course . knew him to be the fourth baratheon son ; a shy younger than lord renly but if he was anything like the newly crowned prince , she knew her heart would be fond to him as it did to him . still , it does not cease the way her palms had grown sticky with sweat nor the small tremble on her bottom lip . be it from the exhilaration of the dance or the nervousness of being alone - in a room - with a boy , for the seven’s sake - this was not how highborn ladies were supposed to act . and if septa roelle had seen a sliver of her behavior right now , she knew the whipping cane would be pulled out . 

                    “ a - a few . i read the seven - pointed star , my lord . “ said brienne . “ the septon asks me to read it every night just before i go to sleep . “ and now a pause , a familiar sort of warmth settling on the broad of her cheeks as she chews over her the words she had said . she is no better than a silent sister . “ a - and other literature . p - poetry . “ brienne follows quickly , hastily making herself move towards a nearby divan with a satin cloth draped over it , sitting herself down - an attempt to make herself at ease . he meant no harm unlike the other lords and stable boys . 

                    “ mostly books of legends , my lord . fiction . that sort of stories . “  said she as her thick hands settled on her lap , toying with the embroidered crescent moon on the satin fabric . “ is it their adventure that thrills me the most . their chivalry and how gallant they are when they face great danger . “ a blush , once more sweeps across visage . it comes in blotchy patches similar to spilled wine . “ if it pleases you my lord , w - what sort of books catches your attention ? “ 

           As she began to explain Ashter found himself smiling, a small gesture; subtle in it’s nature, the corner of his lips turning up at the way she too fumbled over vocabulary. It was as Brienne moved to seat herself that the lantern light caught her face and once more Ashter was reminded of why the boys called her Brienne the beauty. It was a cruel thing, to punish someone for being born a might uglier than most ; what fault was it of this girl that her face wasn’t as charming as some of the other ladies of Storms End? He’d never been able to understand that cruelty, never really had a grip of any cruelty really. In fact the youngest Baratheon was often mocked himself for the charity he showed even the most vile of creatures. Once he’d been beaten for weeping as a hunting caravan had returned with a mount of wild boar ; Renly had been there for him then — to show kindness when others would sooner mock him. The letters on the page were just as kind as his brother more often than not — no wonder then why his dark shock of curls could be found hovering above one large tome or another at any given time.

“Fiction.” He answers back wistfully, smile growing warmer as his lithe form approached hers slowly. For all the softness he’d been cursed with Ashter had never been a clumsy boy ; had he been born with the desire he would have been a talented swords man — even the few times he’d shot a bow had been cause for note. But the desire to harm others sat low on the stags list of wants ; perhaps a tournament might better serve a purpose but that would mean time spent training, turning soft, supple hands to hard calloused weapons and the very idea made him shudder in revolt.

BEEP BEEP HOWS MY PORTRAYAL?@fullcfterrors

sharna i love the fucking SHIT out of you okay, and i’ve been hoarding this bc i really needed it as of late. you are the best binch i’ve ever met and literally the most talented writer i’ve ever had the pleasure of collaborating with, not to mention creative as HELL! i could honestly gush about you forever but i’m trying to get some writing done ( 90% of my drafts are you anyway xD ) LOVE YOU CHICK KEEP BEING A STELLA FUCKING HUMAN BEING , THE WORLD NEEDS YOUR LIGHT